Hate is a Strong Word
by caffeineaddict13
Summary: “Yeah, well, I’ve got low self-esteem." Jacob and Bella discuss each other's attributes.


**A/N:** Angsty New Moon fluff. A category all in its own.

P.S.: My friend came back from Washington and brought me some stones and driftwood from First Beach in La Push. I don't mean to brag or anything, but _hell yes_!

--

"Tell me," he says, and she forces a glare at him. He smirks back at her, all little-boy-rage and pretty mouth.

"Oh, come on, Bells – I could easily name ten thousand things I like about you."

"Yeah," she mutters. "See, that's the problem…"

Jacob rolls his eyes and lets out a snort. It's kind of adorable, in a wolfish sort of way.

"I've told you that I wont bring stuff like that up again. But we're friends, and…friends do these things."

Bella sneers. "I don't ever remember telling my friends from Phoenix what I liked about them. It's just always assumed."

"Yeah, well, I've got low self-esteem," Jacob says. Bella doesn't reply. "Alright, now you're just making me _feel_ bad."

The brown-haired girl lets out a sigh before turning her gaze down to her fingernails.

"Fine," she groans. "Uh…I like…" she pauses for a second, thinking. "I like driving with you."

Jacob raises an eyebrow. "Okay, not _exactly_ what I was hoping for, but I'll take it."

Bella bites her lip. "Well, I mean – you're a nice…companion. We'll talk but you don't mind sitting in silence either, and you're really careful, especially for a sixteen-year-old. Like, _obsessive_ careful, almost." Jacob grins. "You almost never take your eyes off the road and you're always gripping tight on the wheel…" She trails off with a blush.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Nothing," she replies, shaking her head. Jacob stares at her for a moment; deep-sunken eyes and dark circles from running, keeping her safe…

"Ugh, okay," she snaps. "I – I like your _hands_."

Jacob looks down at the feature, turning them over in front of his face. Bella can't help but smile through the embarrassment.

"Yeah," she murmurs, half-teasing. "They're really…strong. And big, but not…meaty." Bella grimaces. "Not like, you know, a football player's or anything. But not really a pianist's, either. Kind of…like a violin."

"A violin?" Jacob questions incredulously.

"Yeah," Bella says, grinning. "You know – you have calluses over this part – " she traces the red marks over the edge of his palm, near his thumb, " – like a violinist would have from holding the…stick thing. And your fingers are kinda long and…graceful, especially since you started phasing. A violin," she finishes, her hand still resting over his.

Bella looks down and her cheeks flush red when she noticed Jacob has done the same. She tries to move her palm but Jacob catches it in his, turning it over and over – ivory against russet, real and beautiful.

"Um…" Bella stutters.

"Keep going," Jacob urges her, moving his eyes up to hers.

She swallows and tries to ignore the warmth that's spreading through her.

"Uh…your laugh," she says quietly. "Your voice in general, actually. And your smile."

The corners of Jacob's lips turn up but he doesn't say anything.

"You're funny, I guess," she continues, "in a totally immature, teenage boy sort of way."

"Well, I _am_ a teenage boy, honey," he points out.

Bella shrugs. The heat is almost uncomfortable, now. "I, uh, can't think of any more."

Jacob nods, and the look in his eyes starts to scare her.

"Tell me something," she says quickly. "Tell me what you like about _me_,"

Jacob's mouth twitches. "I like that you don't care about age or any of that. I mean, you _could_ be the kind of girl who gets embarrassed hanging around a sophomore all the time, but you're not."

"Well, you don't exactly _look_ like a sophomore, Jake," Bella points out.

"Still," he says, shrugging. "I like…your hair and your skin. And your mouth…" he reaches his free hand forward and traces the shape of her lips. They part automatically and she blushes again. "It's…pretty." He stops just as quickly, moving his hand back to his side.

"You're smart and funny…not in an immature, teenage boy way," he says, teasing. "In a book-reading, don't-even-realize it way."

Bella smiles. "Go on."

Jacob looks away, to the window, about ten feet from where they're seated on her couch.

"I like the way you say 'sort of,' even if I don't really know what it means. I like that you let me put you back together and that you can be serious and angry and sad and wanting and beautiful all at the same time. I like the way your skin feels and the look on your face when I make you laugh." He looks back at her.

"Jacob…" she starts, but he shakes his head.

"You know all this, anyway," he tells her. "It doesn't make a difference that I've said it out loud."

"I guess not," she says, but her voice is quiet – reflective.

She falls asleep a half hour later, her head on his chest and moonlight coming through the window. He doesn't tell her that she cries in her sleep or that she called his name, however faintly, at the edge of a dream.

He doesn't tell her that she already told him I love you.

When she's ready, he'll be there.

--

**END**


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